


Ronald To The Weasley

by Sploodington



Series: Hogwarts Before The War [1]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sploodington/pseuds/Sploodington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unexpected turn of events involving a time-turner, Ron finds himself in Hogwarts in the year 1963... With the time-turner out of juice, he has to work together with the Professor Dumbledore of 1963 to get back to his own time, and along the way has to save his parents' marriage, Dumbledore's life and his own existence!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Libyans!

“Albus, this is a powerful magic artefact… And the boy is only fourteen! Are you sure he can take on such responsibility?”  
“Minerva, I have no doubt that young Master Weasley will prove himself to be a most capable carrier. After all, he has proven himself of several occasions to be fiercely loyal and to keep a cool head under pressure. With Mister Potter competing in the tri-wizard tournament I’m sure he will be eager to prove himself, this may well be his chance.”  
“But what if he is waylaid? What if someone takes the device for themselves, they could change anything! This is no mere time turner; they couldn’t just flit back a few hours, they could go back years! Decades, even! What if they decided to go back to Godrick’s Hollow fourteen years ago, stop You Know Who from being destroyed?”  
“As usual Minerva you have hit the nail directly on its head. That is exactly why Mr Weasley is the perfect candidate; the artefact needs to reach the ministry by some means, and a visit to his Father would arouse far less suspicion than a team of aurors. No dark wizard would think to stop him. The device needs to be carried by a Weasley, and I believe Ronald to be the best choice.”  
“Well… On your own head be it! Let’s hope for all our sakes no one goes back and changes your history. I bid you good day, Headmaster”  
“Good day, Professor.”

“Why me?” Ron thought to himself as he made his way to Dumbledore’s office. “Why not Percy? He’s Head Boy! I’m just Ron…” Just as his thoughts begin to trail off, he spotted Professor McGonagall storming down the corridor in the opposite direction.  
“Professor” he nodded.  
“Weasley.” She replied, staunchly.  
“What’s up her knickers?” he thought to himself as he approached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office. He spoke the password, mounted the stone platform at the gargoyle’s feet and watched as the world seemed to spiral away, giving way to the cacophony of whirring gizmos and fantastical oddments that awaited. Professor Dumbledore was stood just in front of his desk, waiting patiently. As he saw the ascending platform, he stiffly moved forwards to greet Ron.  
“Hello, Ronald.”  
“Professor Dumbledore, sir.” replied Ron.  
“I understand that your Mother has explained to you why I’ve called you here today, and why secrecy in this matter is of the utmost importance.” his face seemed to darken at that last part, as he looked at Ron over the top of his half-moon glasses.  
“Uh, yeah. Yeah I get it, don’t tell anyone.”  
“This unfortunately includes Mister Potter and Miss Granger.”  
“Well, that’s not exactly a problem… Harry’s being a right fowl git at the moment, and I think if Hermione knew about a super-time-turner I’d never hear the end of how fascinating it is.”  
Dumbledore gave a small laugh.  
“Yes, yes I suppose that is for the best, hm? I digress. The artefact I’m entrusting you with, this ‘super-time-turner’, is in fact an oscillating crystal enchanted with a flux capacitor charm. By now I believe crystal oscillation has been explained to you in muggle studies class, and the flux capacitor charm I’m sure Professor Flitwick will have taught you about?”  
“Uhhh….”  
Another small laugh.  
“Oscillating crystals form the basis of most muggle timepieces; they emit a signal at a very reliable rate, which muggles use to measure time very precisely. And a flux capacitor charm is of course the charm by which time-turners are created; and can only be cast by lightning willow wands like the one in that cabinet over there” Professor Dumbledore gestured to a cabinet set into one corner of his office, in which could been seen a blackened wand, gnarled and twisted, set on a pedestal in the middle of its shelf.  
“This particular artefact” said Dumbledore, as he took from his pocket a small golden object “combines the two to create a very powerful time turner. Mr Weasley, if this artefact fell into the wrong hands…” Before he could finish, an almighty crash could be heard from above. One of the windows in the upper levels of Dumbledore’s office had been smashed open, and a dark shape had apparated inside.  
“Great Scott!” exclaimed the professor.  
“Who is it, professor?!” cried Ron.  
“Who do you think, Ronald? The Libyans!”  
“Holy shit!” Ron cried, as a green flash shot from the dark figure’s wand, narrowly missing Dumbledore and shattering a nearby globe.  
“I’ll draw their fire!” shouted the professor, strafing away from Ronald and firing mighty bursts of orange flame from his wand. However, before Ron could so much as react, the intruder fired another green flash from his wand. This time the incantation was audible.  
Avada kedavra!  
The spell hit Dumbledore directly in the chest. The professor’s body seemed the burst open, as flames shot from the point of impact; as if all the powerful magic in him was leaving his body.  
“Nooooo, bastards!!” yelled Ron at the dark figure, who fired off a curse at him. Thankfully Ron ducked for cover just in time, but this gave the intruder time to escape. They dissolved into a black cloud and shot back out the window into the evening sky. As the dust settled on the quiet destruction of the headmaster’s office, Ron crawled over to Dumbledore’s corpse. His robes had burst open at the front, revealing an ash covered chest. His beard and hair had been singed at the edges, and his eyes were closed. Ron looked down to the professor’s outstretched hand; he was still holding the time turner. This gave Ron an idea.  
“24 turns, 24 hours. I can go back 24 hours and stop this happening. Warn McGonagall and the other professors, be prepared this time.” Ron began turning the time turner. 1… 2… 3… he wiped a tear from his eyes. 9… 10… 11… He thought about what Harry would have done 17… 18… 19… Why couldn’t this happen when there was someone else there? Someone who could have helped? 22… 23… 24. The world spun as 1994 disappeared into a blurry haze.


	2. 1963

As the world came back into focus, Ron found himself back in Dumbledore’s office; pre-destruction. Though, it didn’t look quite as he remembered… There were scarcely any cabinets or whirring trinkets, and the room was arranged totally differently.  
“Bloody hell” thought Ron “How far back did I go?!”  
He spotted across the room a bin full of old parchment, containing a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet. He grabbed the newspaper out of the bin and unfurled it, scanning the front page for the date.  
Tuesday, November 5th, 1963  
“This has got to be a dream” he muttered, tugging on his red hair to try and bring himself to. No luck. It was real. The time turner hadn’t taken him back 24 hours, it had taken him back 24 years! Hold on, wait… That’s not right… 30… Plus… 1? Yes, 31. 31 years. Ron… Should probably have taken better care when turning the time turner. Nonetheless, he was now stranded in 1963, and in Dumbledore’s office. A Dumbledore who hadn’t invited him there, hadn’t given him the password and would probably not take too kindly for a strange future boy trespassing in his locked office, fumbling through his rubbish… Ron didn’t hang about. He jumped right onto the gargoyle’s platform and briskly made his way down to the great hall. Maybe a nice mug of pumpkin juice would clear his head.

The walk from Dumbledore’s office to the great hall was a surreal experience; Hogwarts had always seemed to be so ancient, Ron had assumed it had been the same forever, but seeing how different it all was just 31 years ago made him realise how dynamic the place was. There were plenty of recognisable landmarks, the odd statue here and there, a few portraits… But the students all looked different, their uniforms were so loose and baggy, and the hairstyles… Did people really think this looked good? It smelled different too. Sort of… Earthy. But like, also perfumed. Like incense. As Ron cracked open one of the vast doors to the great hall, he was relieved to find that the food still smelled as good as it did in 1994. He spotted an empty seat next to a scruffy looking redheaded boy who was reading quietly to himself and helped himself to half a dozen hash browns, three eggs, four sausages and filled the rest of the plate with bacon. Pretty modest for a breakfast, but he was in no mood for eating. Something was missing though…  
“Excuse me” he said to the girl across the table from him. “Where’s the pumpkin juice free?”  
“It’s always free. What, have you been paying for it?” she replied, confused.  
“No, it’s… It’s pumpkin juice without… Nevermind, I’ll just grab something without sugar. Hermione says I should cut down.” All he could find was tea. It would have to do, as before Ron could even get the first few rinds of bacon down him the doors to the great hall were flung open. A slender blonde boy strode purposefully down the aisle between the tables, followed by two great hulking thugs of lads, all three clad in Slytherin robes.  
“Weasley!” the boy proclaimed, as Ron and the boy next to him turned their heads in almost perfect synchrony “Weasley, what on earth do you think you’re doing? I’m talking to you, you disgrace to the name of Wizard!”  
Before Ron could retort, he noticed the boy next to him had begun to speak.  
“Oh, yes, sorry, Lucius, I…” he murmured.  
“Don’t suppose you’ve found your way to doing my charms homework, have you Weaselby?”  
“Well, um… Actually, I thought… As it isn’t due in until Thursday…”  
“Oh for goodness sake Arthur, do use your head. I need to have time to copy it out into my own handwriting! Do you have any idea what would happen if I handed in my homework in your handwriting? I could be expelled! You wouldn’t want that to happen now, would you?” Lucius grabbed Arthur by the collar of his uniform, threateningly. Throughout this whole little speech Ron had been staring, slack jawed at Lucius. This was Lucius Malfoy, the same Lucius Malfoy who had tormented his family for decades, the same Lucius Malfoy who was Father to the unpleasant little grub that was Draco Malfoy, the same Lucius Malfoy who worked at the ministry with…  
“And just what are you looking at, you scruffy little urchin?” Lucius turned his attention to Ron.  
“Hey Lucius, look at his uniform! Looks like a hand-me-down…” one of the grunts commented, grabbing at Ron’s clothes.  
“Red hair… And a hand-me-down robe… He’d almost pass for a Weasley!” Lucius sneered. Turning back to Arthur as if Ron was never there he continued “So, my homework?”  
“Oh, yes… Yes… I’ll do it tonight, and drop it off outside the Slytherin common room first thing tomorrow morning.” Arthur snivelled.  
“Well, try not to make it too early, I like to sleep in on Wednesdays…” With that Lucius strode triumphantly to the Slytherin table, leaving Ron staring flabbergasted at his 14-year-old Father. After a number of minutes, Arthur eventually cottoned on.  
“What?” he asked, disgruntled.  
“You’re Arthur Weasley” stuttered Ron  
“I am indeed… Can I help you?”  
Before Ron could answer, a small plump boy had grabbed Arthur by the arm.  
“I say Arthur, why ever do you let those boys push you about like that?!” he asked  
“Well, they’re bigger than me… Or two of them are, at least.”  
“For goodness sake man, stand tall! Have some respect for yourself! If you let people walk all over you now, I daresay they’ll be walking over you for the rest of your life!”  
Arthur looked back at Ron despondently.  
“Take me for example. Do you think I want to follow the same footsteps as my Father? I’m going to make something of myself!” The boy straightened his back and stuck up his nose, and it was precisely then that Ron realised who he was.  
“Yeah, you’re going to be the Minister for Magic!” he blurted out, thoughtlessly.  
“Minister for Magic? Yes… Yes, I like that a lot… Minister Cornelius Fudge, I like the sound of that…” he muttered as he waddled off back to his own seat. Arthur went back to his food without another word to Ron, and Ron continued to eat. Maybe things would make sense if he had a bit more food down him.


	3. The Quad-Wizard Tournament

Slowly, the great hall began to fill up with students, until what looked like every student in Hogwarts was there, and quite a few more... Many of whom were wearing strange robes that Ron didn’t recognise. Ron turned to Arthur and asked  
“What’s going on? What’s everyone doing here?”  
“Merlin’s beard, have you spent the last month in a troll cave? They’re announcing the champions for the quad-wizard tournament!” Arthur replied  
“Quad-wizard tournament? Don’t you mean tri-wizard tournament?”  
“Well, the way the Libyans are acting I wouldn’t be surprised… Dumbledore never trusted them after their champion used the cruciatus curse on our boy Bartemius, and everyone knows it was their headmaster who put him up to it. It was a shame they didn’t have the tournament suspended again, if you ask me...”  
“The Libyans?!” exclaimed Ron, to more than a few turned heads. Is that why they killed him? Could the mysterious figure have been some old quad-wizard champion, jaded at being robbed of their eternal glory? Before he could finish this thought, the oaken torches lining the walls of the great halls dimmed, and the doors to the great hall opened. Out stepped Professor Dumbledore, but not as Ron had known him… This was the Professor Dumbledore of 1963. His beard was a little shorter, his clothes a little different, and his hair a little darker. But what struck Ron most was his eyes, that’s what really gave it away; his eyes looked younger, less aged by worry and grief. Ron foolishly thought for a moment, what could have happened to age him so? But then it hit him, of course: You Know Who.

Following behind the professor were three formidable individuals; to his immediate left, an elderly woman dressed in an emerald blue dress, with inset jewels that made the dress shimmer like starlight, exuding power and grace. After the events of his first year, Ron recognised her from a picture on one of Hermione’s books: This was Perenelle Flamel, Nicholas Flamel’s wife and former (or, in 1963, current) headmistress of Beauxbatons. To Dumbledore’s immediate right was a mountain of a man with a vast black beard hiding a harsh face, wearing heavy leather robes which swept along the floor behind him. He walked with a gigantic oaken staff, almost slamming it on the ground with each step, emitting sparks and leaving scorch marks on the hall of the Great Hall, just like the Durmstrang students of 1994. If this wasn’t the headmaster of Durmstrang, Ron would have eaten his robes. Trailing behind somewhat was a tall, proud wizard wrapped in luxurious silk robes, all shades of purple and red. Whilst his face was not quite as harsh as that of the bearded man, he was scowling. He seemed scorned at being made to walk behind Dumbledore whilst the others walked by his side. This must have been the Libyan headmaster. The Professors strode purposefully up to the stage, Dumbledore stood behind the podium with the other headmasters behind him, throwing his arms to either side to signal that he was to begin.  
“Good day, good day! I hope that you’ve all feasted yourselves on a hearty breakfast to prepare for the excitement to come, for today is a momentous day, the day we announce the champions for the quad-wizard tournament!” This was met with cheers “We will begin with last year’s victors, our friends from Durmstrang. Ivan, if you wouldn’t mind”  
The bearded man, Ivan, nodden solemnly at Dumbledore and strode up to the goblet of fire. He slammed his staff on the ground and a scrap of parchment shot out of the goblet, falling into his outstretched hand.  
“Penka Nikolov!” he bellowed, with cheers violently erupting from one end of the great hall… A pale, slim girl with dark hair and cunning eyes tore herself away from the crowds of Durmstrang students piling onto her and made her way up to Ivan to shake his hand before returning to her seat. Meanwhile, Ron had noticed a plate of chicken wings was now free of any competition and so decided to help himself to a few handfuls.  
“Next, if the lady Perenelle would take the stand” Dumbledore continued, bowing slightly to Professor Flamel.  
“Called it” thought Ron, as he sunk his teeth into the first leg.  
Professor Flamel approached the goblet, slowly raising her hand. The goblet spat out another name, which fluttered gracefully into her right hand. With her left, she held her wand to her throat.  
“Tophana Chameli” she said gently with a smile, her voice magnified by her wand to fill the entire hall. Amidst the cheers and applause from the Beauxbatons students a small, dark skinned girl with a determined expression made her way to the front. She too shook her headmistress’s hand and returned to her seat.  
“Professor Halim” Dumbledore enunciated to the room, with a note of almost dismissive reluctance. With a sideways glance at his lacklustre introducer, Professor Halim stood forwards and extended both hands. The goblet spat out a scrap of parchment with embers still burning. Professor Halim caught it in his right hand, wincing slightly as the embers burnt his skin. Apparently the goblet wasn’t any happier with him than Dumbledore was… His face lifted when he saw the name, however. “Sayyid Maghur!” he almost shouted, with a raucous reception from the back of the room. Amidst the throng of celebration, a handsome young man with a shaved head and square jaw emerged, playfully shoving off his friends’ affection. He strode to the front with his chest out and head held high, shook Professor Halim’s hand with a warm smile and returned to his friends.  
“And at last” Dumbledore shouted over the cheers continuing from the Libyan students “the time has come to select our own Hogwarts champion”  
Taking a few steps forward, he held out his hand as the goblet violently spat out the name. His eyes darkened as he read it, but he forced a smile.  
“Rodolphus Lestrange.”  
There were a few cheers from the Slytherin table, the loudest of which coming from a frizzy haired first year girl, but the applause was relatively modest compared to the others. This didn’t seem to bother Rodolphus, who charged up the isle to eagerly shake Dumbledore’s hand. As he went to sit down, Ron caught a glimpse of his smile. With his eyes shadowed by his dark, messy hair, he seemed to have a snake’s smile; as if he could strike at any minute.  
“Bad egg, that one” Arthur whispered to Ron “The lot of them are, Lestranges. His Dad’s big into all that Death Eater stuff, wears a mask and hunts down muggles I hear, almost for sport. Barbaric. Utterly barbaric.”  
Ron didn’t need to be told, of course. He knew exactly who this boy was. This was the same Rodolphus Lestrange who helped capture and torture Alice and Frank Longbottom, Neville’s parents. He wasn’t going to stick around to watch this madman get a pat on the back. Slamming his hand down on the table, he stormed out of the great hall. A few heads rose, but for the most part the students were too caught up in the excitement of it all to notice.


	4. Arresto Momentum!

After the announcement, Ron needed to clear his head. He took a walk around the castle, getting lost more than a few times for lack of discernible landmarks. As night began to fall around Hogwarts, it became increasingly clear that Ron had nowhere to sleep. His bunk in the Gryffindor dormitory wouldn’t be his for decades, and he didn’t even know the password to get in and sleep on the sofa! He remembered that the astronomy tower in 1994 had some quite comfortable looking quilts and pillows strewn about the place, so hoping that they may have been there as long as they smelled like they had, Ron decided he’d be best off bunking in there. As he tentatively opened the door to the tower and peeked his head round, he spotted a scruffy looking redheaded lad who looked very familiar… It was Arthur.

Arthur was leaning over the edge of the balcony overlooking the courtyard, straining to get a better view of something ahead. In front of Arthur, Ron could just about make out the back of Gryffindor tower, where the girls’ dormitories are. It looked like Arthur was straining to look in… That’s when Ron realised.  
“He’s a peeping Tom!” exclaimed Ron, startling Arthur. The shock caused Arthur to stumble, as he wobbled over the edge of the balcony railing. Immediately, Ron rushed over to help him up, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him back. Arthur’s gangly limbs flailed erratically as he was flung back away from the window, accidentally striking Ron in the back of the head. As Arthur tumbled backwards into the astronomy classroom, Ron fell forwards, going head first over the railing! The ground rushed towards him, his vision blurring. He shut his eyes in fear, and heard a booming voice.  
“Arresto momentum!” it cried.  
The world went dark.

Ron awoke in bed, his vision was still blurred and his head was throbbing with pain. He let out a mumble.  
“Mum? Is that you?” he murmured, deliriously.  
“There there now, just relax” a soft voice replied gently, caressing Ron’s forehead with an ice pack. “You’ve been asleep for almost nine hours now…”  
“Yeah… I had an awful nightmare. I dreamt that I went back in time, it was terrible!” Ron mumbled, his eyes still adjusting to the light.  
“Well, you’re safe now” cooed the voice, as the redheaded figure slowly came into focus. “Back in good old 1963”  
“1963?!” Ron exclaimed, shooting bolt upright in bed as his vision came fully into focus and he recognised the redheaded girl who had been tending to his wounds. “You’re… You’re…” he stammered.  
“I’m Molly, Molly Prewitt.” The girl finished, sheepishly.  
“Yeah but uh… You’re… You’re so…” Ron stammered, utterly flabbergasted at the sight of his teenage Mother. “You’re so thin!” he finally managed to cough out.  
“Just relax, Viktor. That was a big fall, even with Dumbledore’s charm slowing you down…” she reassured him.  
“Viktor? Why… Why are you calling me Viktor?”  
“Well, that is your name isn’t it? Viktor Krum? It’s written all over your pants.”  
Ron looked down under the sheets, remembering that he’d been wearing the official Viktor Krum underpants he’d bought at the Quiddich World Cup earlier that year.  
“I suppose people call you Vik…”  
“No!” Ron hurriedly replied. “No, they… They call me Ron, actually. Where the bloody hell are my trousers?!” he demanded.  
“They’re right here” Molly answered, gesturing to the folded trousers on the dresser by his bed. “If you like, I could help you put them on…” she offered all too eagerly, moving closer and reaching to pull back the covers. With a start, Ron garbled some noise and tried to move away, becoming tangled in the sheets and falling head over heels off of the bed. At that moment, Molly heard footsteps coming towards the hospital wing…  
“Oh no, it’s Madame Tutela! Quick, put your trousers back on!” Molly hissed under her breath, throwing Ronald’s trousers at him before he could even regain his balance. Hurriedly, he shoved them on and threw the duvet back on the bed just in time. Madame Tutela strode briskly into the room.  
“Ah, Mister Krum! Glad to see you’re awake. I trust that Miss Prewitt has been taking good care of you.”  
Molly nodded.  
“She’s hardly left your side the whole time you’ve been here. I must say Miss Prewitt, in these past two years you’ve been volunteering here I’ve never seen you take such a shine to a patient.”  
Molly blushed, nervously eyeing up Ron as she bit her bottom lip. Madame Tutela laid down the tray of food she was carrying on a table and bustled over to a supply cupboard and began taking inventory.  
“Now, if you wouldn’t terribly mind, it’s about time for the Black boys’ lunch. Mr Krum, you can help seeing as you’re on your feet. Sirius likes his sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Miss Prewitt, you can prepare the bottle for baby Regulus.”  
“The Black boys?” Ronald asked  
“Sirius and Regulus. Their cousin Andromeda brought them in, didn’t want their parents poisoning their minds with all this ‘pure blood’ nonsense so she asked Dumbledore if they could stay at Hogwarts. Of course it’s only a matter of time before the ministry intervenes and we have to send them back to Grimmauld Place, but I’ll bet Dumbledore fights tooth and nail to keep them safe here for as long as possible.”  
“Uh, right. Okay.” As Molly took a bottle of baby formula from a cabinet and began warming it with her wand, Ronald made a sandwich and brought it over to the dark haired boy in the playpen in the corner of the room. Gesturing to fence encasing the pen, Ron muttered under his breath “Better get used to these bars, eh Sirius?”  
“You know Mister Krum” Madame Tutela mused as she continued taking inventory “You look terribly familiar. Do I perhaps know either of your parents?”  
With a sideways glance at Molly, Ron replied “Uh… Yeah, I think you might…”  
Madame Tutela shrugged. “Oh well, never the matter. Miss Prewitt, please escort Mister Krum to the Headmaster’s office. I expect he’ll want to know why a student was in the Astronomy tower so late, and I expect you’ll want to thank him for saving you.”  
“Yes Ma’am” Molly replied curtly, flashing Ron a smile and a wink that made him deeply uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor Krum Official Underwear soon to be available in all good wizarding clothing outlets.  
> http://i.imgur.com/WbNAb7S.png
> 
> Krum's forray into clothing via his "Krúm" line follows the success of his fragrance, "Krüm".  
> http://i.imgur.com/YvbgBmN.png
> 
> Krum is expected next to branch out into music, with rumours flying that he plans to release an album early in the new year.


	5. Great Scott!

Molly hardly took her eyes off of Ron as they walked together in awkward silence to Dumbledore’s office, so of course Ron walked as fast as he could and it wasn’t long before they were stood at the foot of the stone gargoyle. After Molly had spoken the password, she turned to Ron and breathily sighed “Bye…” before almost skipping back to the hospital wing. Ron shook his head to get rid of the weirdness, and stepped onto the platform as it rose steadily. As the gargoyle rose to meet the level of the office, Ron was greeted by an enthused Professor Dumbledore holding a metal basin in his hands. In the metal basin was a translucent silvery substance, it seemed almost to be overflowing…  
“Good day to you, young man! I presume you are the Mr Krum who fell from the Astronomy tower…”  
“Uh… Yeah, yeah that’s me. Viktor Krum.” Ron mumbled, somewhat intimidated by the Professor’s enthusiasm.  
“Well you certainly have arrived at an opportune moment. This is my pensieve you see, a vastly useful tool. It allows one to siphon the excess thoughts from one’s mind, and view them in sequence at one’s leisure… Fantastically useful.” Dumbledore rambled  
“Yeah. Great. Brilliant. Look, professor, there’s something I need to tell you…” Ron tried to say, but the professor interrupted.  
“Currently, I’m modifying it to allow it to store and replay thoughts from multiple persons at once… Here, here, I’ll demonstrate. Simply hold your wand to your head, like so…” the Professor began, but Ron interrupted this time.  
“Professor, sorry, but… I really need to-”  
“Mr Krum!” Dumbledore barked, authoritatively.  
“Alright, alright, fine…” Ron submitted, reluctantly placing his wand to his temple as Dumbledore was demonstrating.  
“Now, think of a memory that you want to show me. Nothing too important. But try to picture it vividly…” Ron knew exactly which memory he wanted Dumbledore to see. He began playing it through in his head: The stone gargoyle rising, Dumbledore warning Ron about the dangers of his mission…  
“Try to visualise this memory streaming from your mind into your wand” Dumbledore explaining the thingy crystals, the flux whatever charm…  
“And, when the memory is complete, release!” Just as the window in Ron’s head smashed, Dumbledore had grabbed his arm and yanked it from his head, cutting the memory short at ‘Great scott!’. Dumbledore guided Ron’s arm over into the pensieve, dropping the silvery memory into the basin. The water rippled, looking like it was about to overflow, then receded. It seemed almost to compact.  
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” the Professor mused to no one in particular “Sorry, did you want something?”  
“Professor… I’m from the future.” Dumbledore stared at Ronald, perplexed. “I came here from the year 1994 using a super powered time turner which you asked me to deliver to my Father, Arthur Weasley, at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. I came here to warn you about…”  
“NO!” Professor Dumbledore exclaimed. “No! If this is true and you have somehow come into the possession of a time turner which allows for decades of time travel, if I am to believe that such an artefact exists and that a boy of fourteen can wield it… Then it is imperative that I remain naïve to my own future! Of course, that is of course assuming I believe you… And why should I?”  
“Professor, I’m telling the truth!” Ronald insisted.  
“Then tell me, Mr Weasley… Who is the minister for magic, in 1994?”  
“Cornelius Fudge” Ronald answered confidently  
“Cornelius Fudge!? That little lump of a boy?!” Dumbledore scoffed, dismissively. “If you’re looking for someone to laugh at your practical jokes, I would suggest contacting the Prewett boys Fabian and Gideon, they may be more to your taste! Good day, Mr Krum!” With a swish of his robes, the Professor stormed off to the back of his office.   
“I am from the future, and I can prove it!” Ronald persisted.  
“I said good day!” Dumbledore’s challenging voice came from the back of the room.  
“Tom Riddle.” Ron spoke clearly and defiantly. “Tom Marvolo Riddle. You-Know-Who’s real name. In second year, a memory trapped in his diary tried to kill my sister. Harry stabbed it with a basilisk fang.” This got Dumbledore’s attention.  
“And where did this ‘Harry’ get a basilisk fang from?” Dumbledore asked, tentatively, moving slowly closer.  
“From Salazar Slytherin’s basilisk, the monster from the Chamber Of Secrets. He stabbed it in the head with the sword of Godric Gryffindor.”  
“The Chamber? The Sword? If you are lying, you certainly have done your research…” Dumbledore seemed lost in thought. “Tell me, what happened when this Harry stabbed the diary? Did the memory of Riddle fade?”  
“Yeah. He saved my sister’s life.” Suddenly Ron felt a stab of guilt at how he’d been towards Harry recently…   
“Perhaps… If the diary were a horcrux…” Dumbledore muttered to himself, inaudible to Ron. “My apologies, Mr Weasley.” He turned and bowed “I have mistaken you. Please, take a seat.”

Together, Ron and Dumbledore watched the memory from 1994, right up until it cut out at the ‘Great Scott!’.  
“So yeah, that’s when…” Ron began to explain.  
“Stop! What did I tell you, Mr Weasley? I must not know of my own future, no matter what lies in it!”  
“But professor…”  
“Not another word! Now, it seems evident that we need to get you back to 1994… But a time turner cannot go both ways, even one constructed using an oscillating crystal core.”  
“So I’m stuck here?!”  
“Not necessarily. If we were able to acquire a lightning willow wand, then perhaps we could re-enchant the time turner to travel forwards rather than backwards in time…”  
“Well that’s fine then! We’ll just use the one in that cabinet over th-” as Ron moved to point at the cabinet containing the lightning willow wand, he realised that it wasn’t there.   
“I cannot say how I came to acquire that wand, but it is certainly an event which lies in my future, not my past. I’m sorry, Mr Weasley.”  
“Well… How do you get hold of a lightning willow wand? It can’t be that hard, surely.”  
“I am afraid it is beyond difficult. As it stands, there are no lightning willow wands – the last and only lightning willow wand was created by Merlin himself, and upon creation of the sizeable stockpile of time turners which the ministry now possess this wand was destroyed to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.”  
“Well how did Merlin make it?”  
“The lightning willow wand was wrought from the bow of a willow tree at the exact moment it was struck by a bolt of lightning. But alas, without Merlin’s gift of foresight we cannot know when or where a bolt of lightning will strike, let alone when one will strike a willow tree…”  
Just then Ron thought back on a story his parents had told him about their time at Hogwarts, when he came home for Christmas in his second year, after crashing the Ford Anglia into the whomping willow.  
“The Whomping Willow…” Ron muttered  
“I’m sorry?” Dumbledore responded, having heard him.  
“Lightning’s going to strike the whomping willow at midnight on the night of the Yule Ball!”  
“The whomping what?” Dumbledore was taken aback.  
“The whomping willow! The big willow tree on campus. My parents told me that on the night of their Yule Ball, at the first toll of midnight, lightning struck the willow and made it turn cruel and angry. Now we call it the whomping willow.”  
“So if we could be there exactly as the bolt strikes… Then we too could create a lightning willow wand!” Dumbledore finished, excitedly. “The first since Merlin…” he trailed off.  
“The first since Merlin…” Ron repeated, the momentum of the task ahead dawning on him.


	6. Bloody Hell!

The following morning, Ronald awoke to the sound of whirring. After their discussion, Dumbledore had allowed Ron to spend the night in the spare bed in his office, supplying him with a more suitable 1960’s Hogwarts uniform from the Lost & Found chest. How a student managed to lose their entire uniform Ron neither knew nor wanted to, as he suspected he may feel somewhat uncomfortable wearing it if he knew how it came to be discarded in a broom closet. As Ron stumbled bleary eyed down the stairs in Dumbledore’s ill-fitting spare sleeping robes (clean, thankfully), he noticed that the Professor was already up. Not only this, but had apparently washed, ironed and folded Ronald’s 1994 robes. He was sat at his desk with his back to Ron, staring thoughtfully at what looked like a newspaper clipping.  
“Morning.” said Ron, yawning.  
“Good afternoon.” The Professor replied absent mindedly, alerting Ron to just how late he had slept in. As Ron descended further down the stairs he realised that he recognised the newspaper clipping in Dumbledore’s hand.  
“Is that the picture of my family in Egypt from last y…” Ron stopped himself “…from 1993?”  
“It is.” Dumbledore replied curtly “Ronald… Have you by any chance come into contact with your parents since arriving in 1963?”  
“Uh… Yeah, I sort of… Stopped my Dad falling out of a window.”  
“The same window that you proceeded to fall out of?” Dumbledore inquired, with a raised eyebrow and a glint in his eye  
“Hey it wasn’t my fault! He was…” Ron gestured awkwardly “…flailing!”  
Dumbledore chuckled slightly, nodded and then asked quite seriously.  
“In the future, did you parents ever allude to how they first met?”  
“Yeah, my Mum nursed my Dad back to health after he…” Ron trailed off as the realisation dawned on him.  
“I think you had better look at this.” Dumbledore handed Ron the picture. It looked normal at first, but upon closer inspection Percy appeared to be missing his head…  
“Wh… What does this mean?” Ron asked, his eyes wide with panic  
“It means, Mr Weasley, that by interrupting your parents’ meeting you have written yourself and your siblings out of history.” Dumbledore answered, solemn and stony faced.  
“Well how the bloody hell do I re-write myself?!” Ron demanded  
“It seems that your only hope is to seek out your parents once again and ensure that they fall in love, before you fade out of existence altogether!”

Together, Dumbledore and Ron headed to the courtyard to seek out Arthur. As they stepped through the marble arch opening onto the yard, Ron spotted a familiar flash of orange.  
“That’s him” Ron whispered to Dumbledore, gesturing to the skinny ginger boy attempting to walking hurriedly through the yard carrying some books, pursued by one of the large Slytherin boys from the great hall earlier and two equally large Gryffindors… They appeared to be taking it in turns to kick him up the backside.  
“Why are they…” Ron began to ask Dumbledore, before Arthur turned around, revealing the ‘kick me’ sign spellotaped to his back. “Oh.”  
“Oh indeed.” Dumbledore replied, before shrugging and sauntering off, attempting to act nonchalant. Once he’d spotted Molly sat over in a corner of the courtyard with a few friends, Ron went over and spoke to Arthur.  
“Oh, ha ha! Very funny!” Arthur was sarcastically yelling at the boys who were kicking him, who had of course run off upon spotting Dumbledore.  
“Hi! Da- Arthur, mate… I’ve been looking for you. Remember me? From the astronomy tower?” said Ron, patting Arthur on the back and sneakily removing the ‘kick me’ sign.  
“Oh, yes… You’re the one who, um… Well, saved my life, I suppose.” Arthur replied.  
“Well, it was nothing, really…” Ron replied in a weak attempt at modesty. “Anyway there’s someone I want to introduce you to…” He continued, leading Arthur over to where Molly was sat. As soon as Molly spotted them she instantly came over all flustered, almost falling through the archway in which she was sat.  
“Viktor!” she exclaimed, breathily.  
“Yeah, me. Hi. Look I want you to meet my friend Arthur, he…” Arthur moved forwards to greet Molly, resting his arm on the archway in a way which he must have thought was charming.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet y-” Arthur began, but Molly had scarcely noticed he was there; she was too transfixed on Ron.  
“How’s your head?” she interrupted, sweeping past Arthur as she stood up to ruffle through Ron’s matted hair in search of a bruise.  
“Uh it’s fine” said Ron dismissively “but I really think you should talk to…” Ron went to grab Arthur and drag him into the conversation but realised he was already in the process of awkwardly sauntering off and had moved out of reach. Ron was about to go follow him when he heard the clock tower chime, and suddenly students began rushing into the castle for their lessons.  
“Molly, come on! We’ll be late for charms!” said one of Molly’s friends, tugging on her arm to usher her on. Even as she was dragged away, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Ron. As the three girls ran past Dumbledore into the castle, the Professor heard Molly sigh, “Isn’t he a dream?”  
Dumbledore was flabbergasted. Once the students had filtered out of the yard, Ron strolled over to him.  
“Professor, she didn’t even look at him…”  
“Yes, this is rather more serious than we first imaged… It seems that your Mother is amorously infatuated with you instead of your Father!” Dumbledore replied.  
“No, wait, no… Wait. No. Are you trying to tell me that my Mum… Fancies me?” Ron stammered, taken aback.  
“Precisely” exclaimed Dumbledore.  
“Bloody hell…” Ron cursed, tugging at his hair in exasperation.  
“There it is again, that word… Are things particularly bloody in the future?”  
“More than you know…” Ron replied, thinking back on everything which this Dumbledore had in his future.


	7. Rhythmic Ceremonial Ritual

Dumbledore took Ron back to his office to go over their plans.  
“It would seem that, if ever your parents are ever to fall in love, they will need to be alone together… Tell me, do you know if they have any mutual interests?” Dumbledore mused  
“You tell me, I dunno what people did back… back now.”  
“Well they are your parents, surely you must know something about them?”  
“Well Dad likes muggles and Mum likes… Uh… Being a Mum.”  
“Well did they perhaps speak of any treasured memories, moments of intense romance and passion between them?”  
Ron scrunched up his face and muttered under his breath “I think I’m going to be sick…”  
“Mr Weasley.” Dumbledore barked, stony faced.  
“Alright alright, they did say that their first kiss was at the Yule Ball…”  
“The Yule Ball! Excellent, very fitting. We must ensure that your Father asks your Mother to accompany him to the Yule Ball. You will need to stick to your Father like glue, Mr Weasley, can you do that?”  
“Sure. Got it. Like glue. Thanks professor.” Ron hurried out of Dumbledore’s office to go and find Arthur again, though if he couldn't even work up the courage to ask a girl to the Ball himself however he was going to get his Father to do it was beyond him…

Ron decided he’d just take the plunge and talk to Arthur then see how things went from there. He heard the clock tower striking midday, meaning that Arthur should be in the Great Hall for lunch. He went straight there, finding Arthur sitting by himself nursing a pumpkin juice whilst writing in a somewhat dog-eared journal.  
“Right, so…” Ron started as he sat down, giving Arthur something of a shock “...the girl I was trying to get you to talk to yesterday.”  
“Oh, yes... Her…” Arthur sighed “I don’t think she’s particularly interested in me, unfortunately.”  
“Nah that’s rubbish, you’ve just got to… You know…”  
“Be more assertive?” Arthur asked  
“Exactly! Just be… Be more like, good at talking.” Ron elaborated, eloquently.  
"That’s easier said than done, I’m afraid. Besides, I think she may be more interested in someone else..." Arthur sighed, dejected.  
"What?! Who?"  
"Him." Arthur pointed across the Great Hall to where Molly was sat trying to eat. Trying here was the operative word, as Lucius was quite clearly harassing her. He continuously tried to grope her, no matter how hard she tried to pull away and beat him back.  
"Get off!" she cried, giving Lucius a hearty thwack to the side. She hit pretty hard, but it seemed to just spur him on.  
"Oh come on, you know you can't resist me..." Lucius cooed, lecherously, as Crabbe and Goyle Sr. looked on.  
"Brute!" she exclaimed as she shoved him off of his seat onto the floor.  
"Oh, you'll pay for that one, Prewett. I'll see to that..." he threatened, as Ron got up and headed over to them. No one talks to his Mum like that.  
"Oi! Shove off, Malfoy!" he yelled, storming up to them.  
"Oh, and I suppose an unwashed pleb like yourself is going to make me?" he challenged, as Crabbe and Goyle Sr. sprung into action, towering over Ron. Just as Ron was reaching for his wand, he heard a familiar voice booming at them all from across the hall.  
"Lucius Malfoy!" the authoritative Scottish voice barked. To his astonishment, he saw a young Professor McGonagall striding down the aisle. She looked every bit as fearsome as she did in 1994, and her green eyes were as cunning as ever. Her face remained harsh, but her skin was smoother, and her hair was jet black. She was quite beautiful, and couldn't have been far into her thirties. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" she demanded.  
"Nothing, professor. Just having a pleasant chat with my good friend here." Lucius chirped, with all the charm of a coiled viper.  
"And I'm sure it will remain pleasant, unless you wish to see Slytherin slip back into second place in the house cup?" McGonagall threatened with a smile. Before Lucius could retort, a strange frisbee flew past just behind the professor. It appeared to be covered with fangs, and made a whizzing noise as it flew past.  
"GIDEON PREWETT" McGonagall yelled, forgetting Lucius altogether and storming over to thoroughly reprimand Ronald's uncle.  
"You'll pay for this" Lucius hissed as he and his cronies skulked off.  



	8. Your Density

The castle grounds were a bustle of busy students, the youngest among them clutching tightly to their permission slips and straining onto tip-toes to see how far down the line had gotten, how much longer they had to wait before they could finally see Hogsmeade and find out what all the fuss was about. As a fourth year, Ron luckily didn’t have to hand in his permission slip this year, though he wished he could see the look on Professor McGonigall’s face if she ever looked through last year’s slips and found the one signed “Ivanka Tillaye Krum” which Dumbledore had snuck in without her knowledge. Luckier still he’d managed to jump into Arthur’s carriage just before it set off, giving him time to build up Arthur’s courage on the ride over.  
“Oh, I dunno Ron…” Arthur stammered, as the two of them strolled down the road to the Hog’s Head after exiting the carriage.  
“Look” Ron replied “You’ve just gotta pluck up the courage and ask her before someone else does… Be brave, but put in some fluffy stuff. Say she’s your destiny, or something. Girls like that.”  
“Ooh, yes. Destiny. That’s good…” he took out a pad and began scribbling frantically, paying so much attention to his writing that he walked head first into the door of the tavern.  
“Honestly, it’s a miracle I was ever born…” Ron muttered under his breath  
“What?”  
“Nothing!” Ron pushed Arthur through the door, following calmly after him. He spotted Molly sitting with her friends at a table by the window. Nudging Arthur towards her he whispered “Go get ‘em” before cooly strolling over to the bar and pulling up a stool to watch from.  
In broad awkward strides, Arthur sauntered over to Molly with his own sweaty, nervous brand of confidence, coughing loudly to get her attention.  
“Um, hello, Molly… I was thinking, um… Well, so… You’re a girl.” he floundered.  
“Well observed” she teased “and you are…?”  
“I’m… I’m your density!” Ron wrung his face in his hands. Useless, utterly useless.  
Just then the door flung open and in strode Lucius, followed as always by his neanderthal cronies.  
“Weaselby!” he shouted to Arthur “bit out of your price range this place, isn’t it?” Ron wasn’t going to sit there listening to this. In a flash he was on his feet, wand out, ready for a fight.  
“Locomotor wibbly!” he shouted as Lucius fell to the floor, his legs giving way. Before Crabbe and Goyle Sr could make a move Ron shot past them out of the door. As he burst out onto the snowy street he scanned around for things he could use; the street was bustling with students, mostly excited third years swapping sweets from honeydukes and showing off the prank toys they’d bought from Zonko’s. Nothing much he could use, but then he spotted some kids playing with what looked like a Cleansweep Two. Not the best broom in the world, but in 1963 it was probably the best he was likely to find. It’d have to do.  
“I’ll give it back when I’m done I promise” he assured the kid as he swiped the broom from his hands, mounting it and kicking off. He looked back to see Lucius and his cronies cramming into one of the carriages which had taken them to Hogsmeade, with Lucius taking the reins. Ron had always thought the carriages drove themselves, but Lucius seemed to be acting as if it were being pulled by some invisible horse… Could Lucius see something that Ron couldn’t? Ron didn’t have much time to wonder, the carriage took off into the sky after him and before long they were hot on his heels and catching up fast. Ron swerved this way and that, hoping to take advantage of his small size and maneuverability over the lumbering carriage. Dodging through the tall, twisted rooftops of Hogsmeade put a little space between them, but as soon as he was back out in the open air the superior speed of the carriage always seemed to put them back on his heels. When his eyes settled on a manure cart, however, Ron hatched a plan.  
Leaning forward he summoned every ounce of speed he could out of the primitive broom, driving head first towards the cart. Lucius followed of course, pelting towards him at full speed. The open sky gave way to snow-covered rooftops, the cart rushed towards him until he could smell it. Ron waited until the last possible moment, then swerved sharply off to the right and let his broom shoot off down the icy street as he let go and landed on the snowy ground with a not-so-graceful roll. The carriage ploughed full pelt into the stinking manure. Ron got to his feet slowly, relishing the sight of Lucius spitting dung out of his mouth and yelling curses at no one in particular. A crowd had gathered to see what all the commotion was, including Arthur and Molly, standing side by side. Ron would have felt happy to see them together, if Molly looked like she’d noticed he was even there. Instead she seemed transfixed on Ron, her eyes glazed over with that look that sent a cold chill down Ron’s spine. With a nod to Arthur, Ron turned and shoved a few students out of his way, disappearing into the crowd.


	9. About the future...

When Ron returned to Dumbledore’s office after the events of Hogsmeade, he found the Professor sat at his desk with his face planted in the pensieve. Quietly, Ron walked around and behind the professor, gazing into the silvery fluid to see what he was watching. The moving images showed a familiar scene; it was the memory of the night Ron was sent to the past, the one which was cut short. When he noticed Ron’s presence, Dumbledore yanked his face out of the dish, sitting bolt upright in his chair.  
“Ronald! I’m sorry, I was… It’s a fascinating device, the pensieve, really…” he rambled, hoping Ron hadn’t seen the memory he was looking at.  
“Listen, Professor, about the future…” Ron began.  
“No, no! I do not wish to know. Please, Ronald, no man should know too much about his own destiny. I could endanger my own existence, just as you have endangered yours!” Dumbledore interrupted defiantly.  
“But Professor, your existence depends on you knowing this!”  
“Enough, Ronald! I won’t hear it!”  
“I’m sorry Professor, but you need to. On the night I went to the p-” Ron was cut short by a deep, hearty cough coming from the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. There, barely fitting into the small stone archway, stood a very young, slightly less hairy but no less vast Rubeus Hagrid.   
“Ah, Hagrid! Excellent to see you!” Dumbledore greeted his guest, deliberately putting Ron’s warning out of his mind. “Ronald, this is Rubeus Hagrid, a former student at Hogwarts and an expert in the matter of caring for magical creatures”  
“Ah I’m no expert” Hagrid blushed modestly “jus’ gotta treat ‘em right is all, nothin’ to it!”  
“Nonetheless, I have often sought advice from Hagrid on such matters. I value his counsel very highly. Indeed, with Ogg’s retirement fast approaching, I’d very much like to see Hagrid become a permanent member of staff before long...”  
“I’d ‘ave some big shoes to fill, mind. Good thing I’ve got these old clod ‘oppers, eh Headmaster?” Hagrid joked, to Dumbledore’s amusement.  
“Anyway I s’pose we should get down to business about these centaurs, wouldn’t be plannin’ on using ‘em in the next task now would you?”  
Dumbledore tapped his nose knowingly.  
“That my good man is classified, and should be discussed in private, if you would care to join me in the back room.”   
“‘Course, ‘course. Pleasure meetin’ you, Ron” Hagrid smiled and nodded as Ron stared back dumbfounded. After spending this long in the past you’d think he’d be used to this by now, but it still knocked the wind out of his sails. Dumbledore too bade Ron goodbye, taking Hagrid into the back office.   
“I should warn ye Headmaster, they’re a grumpy bunch o’ blighters, don’t take kindly to wizarding folk…” Ron overheard Hagrid mutter as the door shut behind them, leaving Ron alone in Dumbledore’s office.  
“Oh, you’re not getting out of it that easily” Ron mused, shaking off the shellshock from seeing Hagrid as he strode over to the cabinet containing the memory bottles. He closed his eyes and put his wand to his head, he pictured the scene as clearly as he could: The stone gargoyle rising, Dumbledore explaining the time turner, the window smashing and finally the green flash striking Dumbledore in the chest, causing the flames to erupt from him. When Ron pulled his wand away and opened his eyes, he saw that a long silvery strand was clinging to its tip. Carefully, he wafted it into the bottle and snuck it into the pocket of one of the Professor’s robes.  
No sooner had the bottle had plopped the bottom of the Professor’s pocket, the stone gargoyle rose once again, bringing with it yet another familiar face.  
“Oh, Ron, I… I didn’t realise you’d be…” Molly stammered, floating into the room towards Ron.  
“I was looking for Professor Dumbledore, but while you’re here, I was wondering…” she pressed herself uncomfortably close to Ron “Maybe, if you haven’t asked anyone else, if you’d consider… If you’d consider considering… Asking me to the Yule Ball?”  
The way she fluttered her eyelashes made Ron’s chest seize up with blind panic. He fumbled haphazardly backwards, with Molly following eagerly until he was backed up against Dumbledore’s desk.  
“Uh… What about Arthur? Arthur Weasley, you should… You should ask him to ask you, instead.” Ron sputtered.  
“Oh” Molly looked dejected “I mean… Arthur’s sweet, but I think a man should be strong. He should be able to stand up for the woman he loves.”  
This gave Ron an idea. The thought made his stomach churn, but he knew what he had to do to save his existence.  
“Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll… Yeah. Do you want to go to the ball with me?”


	10. The Yule Ball: Part I

“I’m not sure about this Ron… Could you go over it one more time?” Arthur asked as he and Ron stood in the foyer outside the great hall, awkwardly adjusting the collars on their dress robes. Arthur was wearing the same set of hand-me-down robes that still resided in some dark, dusty corner of the Burrow in 1994. Even now they looked past their prime; Ron had to wonder just how old they were… Though, Ron didn’t fare much better. Having brought little more than a few knuts in his pocket with him to 1963, he was forced to scour the lost-and-found for a set of dress robes, just like he had for his uniform. Full formal dress robes were not so frequently abandoned as ordinary school uniform, so the frilled monstrosity hanging off of Ron’s skinny frame looked like it may actually have been older than Arthur’s.  
“Look mate, it’s not that hard to grasp. Molly’s a nice girl, and nice girls get mad when boys… Um… Take advantage of them.” Ron explained.  
“But I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you… You know…”  
“That’s why I’m not going to!” Ron interjected before Arthur could finish his sentence and Ron had to think about what he was going to do. “That’s why you’re going to stop me, then you and Molly can ride off into the sunset together!”  
“Just like in the muggle movies…” Arthur mumbled. Ron wasn’t sure what a ‘movie’ was, but if it motivated Arthur to get on board then he was thankful for it. Ron pushed open the doors to the great hall and together he and Arthur strode confidently in. Molly spotted him right away and rushed right over to them.  
“Ronald! I’m so glad you’re finally here” she beamed at him.  
“Yeah, yeah, it’s… It’s good to see you too” he lied. The three of them stood awkwardly for a few moments; Molly trying to meet Ron’s gaze, Ron trying to avoid Molly’s gaze, and Arthur third-wheeling painfully. Eventually Ron broke the silence.  
“Do you mind if we, uh… Go somewhere private?” he asked Molly, the words desperately clinging to the ball in his throat, begging never to see the light of day.  
“I’d love to!” Molly replied, her enthusiasm taking Ron aback “Ooh, what say we pop into one of the thestral drawn carriages? I’ll bet there’s no one using them…”  
Every bone in Ronald’s body begged him to say no, but instead he stammered:  
“Y-yeah, let’s do that.”

Once the two of them had left Arthur at the dance and made their way over to where the carriages had parked, with Molly eagerly leading Ron by the hand, they found an empty two-seater parked in a nice secluded spot and had both hopped into the back seats. Wasting no time at all, Molly pulled out a hip flask that she’d cleverly hidden in her bra and took a deep swig.  
“Molly, no! What the bloody hell is that stuff?!” Ron shouted as he swiped the flask out of her hand.  
“It’s fire whiskey! Swiped it from McGonagall's liquor cabinet...” Molly had a mischievous glint in her eye.  
“Well, you shouldn’t drink!” Ron said firmly.  
“Oh, don’t be such a square, Ron! Everyone who’s anyone drinks!” she retorted. Shrugging in defeat, Ronald took a swig of the burning concoction himself to stop Molly from swiping it back off of him. It wasn’t half bad, once you got past the pain. He didn’t have chance to swallow the stuff, however, as Molly had already pulled out a pipe and was already taking generous puffs.  
“Merlin’s beard! You smoke, too?” Ron exclaimed as he dramatically spat out the fire whiskey in shock.  
“For goodness sake, you’re beginning to sound a lot like my Mother!”  
Ron stared blankly at her.  
“Why are you so nervous anyway?” she asked, taking another puff of her pipe and blowing a smoke ring out the carriage window.  
“Well, um… You know when you know you’ve got to act a certain way, but when it comes down to it you… Uh… Can’t really go through with it?”  
“You mean like how you’re supposed to act on a first date?”  
“Yeah! Yeah, like that.”  
“Well, do you know what I do in those kinds of situations?” Molly fluttered her eyelashes in that stomach-churning way.  
“What?” Ron almost dreaded to ask.  
“I don’t worry” as the words fluttered from her mouth, she lunged at Ron and their lips connected, her hand falling somewhere uncomfortably high up Ronald’s inner thigh. She kissed him enthusiastically for a few moments, then broke away, a small trail of slobber hanging between them.  
“This is all wrong…” she whispered, looking bewildered “I don’t know what it is, but kissing you feels like… Well, it feels like kissing one of my brothers.”  
“Yeah, that makes sense…” Ron trailed off, relieved not to have to snog his Mum anymore but also worried about how he was going to get her and Arthur together without a villain for him to save her from. As if in answer to his worries, the door to the carriage opened and a hand firmly yanked Ronald out into the cold night air.  
“You’re going to pay for humiliating me back at Hogsmeade, Krum!” Lucius snarled as he pulled Ron up close to his face.  
“Let him go, Malfoy!” Molly chided from inside the carriage, alerting Lucius to her presence.  
“Well well well” he cooed as his cronies snickered behind him “what do we have here?”  
“Leave her alone, you bastard!” Ron spat into Lucius’s face.  
“Take care of this runt for me, boys. I’ve got some business to attend to…” he purred as he threw Ronald over to Crabbe and Goyle, who held him back as he struggled to escape. All the while they watched as Lucius clamber into the carriage and pin Molly down, despite her struggling furiously.  
“What do you think you’re looking at?!” he scolded the two lumbering henchmen “This isn’t a bloody peep show, bugger off and deal with Krum elsewhere!”  
“Yes Lucius” the lumbering giants chirped in unison, dragging Ron off kicking and screaming and leaving Molly alone with Lucius.

Meanwhile, Arthur had just taken a heroic swig of punch to give him the sugar rush he needed and was bravely making his way over to where the carriages were parked, ready to carry out the plan.  
“Okay Arthur, let’s pull yourself together now. It’s just Ron, you’ve just got to give him a quick jelly legs jinx. He’ll crawl off and un-jellify himself and then you and Molly can ride off into the sunset together. Just one little jinx…” Arthur repeated such affirmations to himself the whole walk over. When he reached the parked carriages, he could tell right away which one had Ron and Molly in: The windows were all steamed up and the carriage was rocking back and forth quite spiritedly. When he bravely strode over to it and flung open the door, however, what he saw wasn’t what he was expecting. He’d barely even gotten to the end of his pre-planned line (“Get your damn dirty hands off of her!”) when he noticed that the conniving cad shoving his hand deep into the ruffles of Molly’s skirt didn’t have Ronald’s characteristic ruffled ginger hair and frilly, outdated dress robes. Instead he was dressed in a sleek black tuxedo-like robe with fine green edging on the velvety fabric, and his hair was long and blonde and sleek. Lucius turned around slowly, squaring up to Arthur as he extracted his hand from Molly’s skirt and stepped out of the carriage.  
“Arthur, please, help!” Molly pleaded.  
“Go back inside, Weasley” Lucius commanded.


	11. The Yule Ball: Part II

After dragging him off, Crabbe and Goyle Sr stuffed Ron into the back of the carriage parked round the back of the great hall. He landed with a thud on the velvet interior of the boot and the two neanderthals shut the lid on him, locking him in. Before they could make their escape, however, Ron felt the carriage shift this way and that as the doors opened and people got out. There was some sort of scuffle, followed by a woman shouting:  
“That’s right, run home to your Mums, you brats!”  
Ronald heard her cast Alohomora on the boot as the boot opened. He realised that the woman whose voice he’d heard was the harpsichordist from the band; a heavily pregnant blonde witch. Evidently Lucius’s goons had chosen to lock him in the boot of the band’s car, without realising that the band were still in the front. Ron quickly shook the hands of the musicians who’d saved him and offered a quick thank you before shooting off towards the main parking bay. He got there just in time to see Arthur twat Lucius one right in his smug face. His long hair twirled around as his whole body slumped against the carriage and fell to the floor. Shaking, Arthur turned to Molly and extended his bloodied hand to help her up.  
“Are you okay?” he asked, heroic and compassionate. Ron never would have imagined his Dad would have it in him. As Arthur took Molly by the hand and the two walked together back to the Great Hall, a crowd slowly gathered; clearly someone had heard the sounds of the fight. Ron felt an intimidating presence behind him, then turned around to see Professor McGonagall.  
“It was about time someone showed that Malfoy boy what for...” she mused to herself. As much as Ron agreed, the important thing was that Molly and Arthur could finally go to the dance together. However, when Ron took out the picture from Egypt to look at, his siblings we still fading. It was now just him and Ginny standing with their parents, and even she was beginning to lose her right arm. What was missing still? He looked around the crowd and realised when he spotted them: The band. They couldn’t dance if there wasn’t any music, and the band were out here gawking at the blonde boy on the floor along with the rest of them. Ron rushed over to them.  
“Oi, you lot need to get back out there! There’s still a dance on.” he implored.  
“Sorry mate but it’s not happening” the singer insisted “Phineas here went and broke his hand fighting off those thuggish lads.”  
“Probably could have got Madame Tutella on it if we’d just left it be” Phineas chimed in “but of course Lockhart insisted on trying to fix it and now look at it!” he waved around his now boneless hand and let it flop around uselessly to prove his point “So unless you know anyone who can play the guitar, we’re scuppered!”  
Ron’s face lit up at that. Thanks to Arthur’s obsession with muggle instruments, Ron had been playing guitar since before he could walk. In fact, music was the only subject he actually scored higher than Hermione in (much to her disgruntlement). It was safe to say then that he could crack out a few tunes when he wanted to. It was clear then what he needed to do.  
After the first few verses of Magic Works, which Ronald had of course taught to his new bandmates before they went on stage, it seemed as though the dance was going well. The band were meshing nicely, the mood was very romantic and Arthur was finally dancing with Molly. But something still wasn’t right; Ron had threaded the newspaper clipping from Egypt between the strings on the head of the guitar so that he could keep an eye on it and for some reason they were still fading. Now it was just him and his parents, Ginny was totally gone.

 

“Out of the way Weasley, I’m butting in.” one of the Slytherin boys shoved Arthur out of the way and, grabbing a very reluctant Molly, was attempting to dance with her. Ron’s hands began to feel weak as they quivered about the neck of the guitar. He started missing notes and, finally, stumbled back to steady himself on a nearby speaker.  
“You alright there, Ron?” Lockhart asked worriedly.  
“I… I can’t play” Ron stammered. When he looked at the picture he could see himself begin to fade, then when he looked down at his hands he saw that they were fading too. He was being erased from history!  
“Excuse me” Arthur butted back in, pushing the Slytherin boy so hard he fell right on his arse. Arthur took Molly’s face in both hands and slowly moved in for the kill. As soon as their lips touched, Ron shot back up. He could play again! He was totally solid, and when he looked to the picture he saw the beaming faces of all six of his siblings. The band had carried on playing without him, so he jumped right back in at the next chorus, giving it a little bit of extra oomf before the song finally concluded to a good deal of applause.   
“That was good, man! Let’s do another one!” the singer said to Ron.  
“Ahh no, sorry, I should really be goi-”  
“Oh come on” he interrupted before Ron could finish “Let’s play something that really cooks!”  
Ron needed to get to Dumbledore soon, but he still had a bit of time and when he looked out at the hoards of students cheering for him… How could he resist? He took up a microphone and addressed the audience:  
“This one’s really big where I come from” he said cryptically. Turning to the band he gave them some quick instructions as to key and rhythm, then he cracked out the opening riff to Do The Hippogriff:  
“Move your body like a hairy troll” Ron’s voice rang out “Learnin’ to rock and roll…”   
The audience were reluctant at first, but once the song really kicked in they started dancing and bopping along to it as best they could. Just offstage, Phineas was using his good hand to operate the dial on an ancient telephone whilst using his flopping, boneless left hand to hold the brass speaker to his ear. Once he’d dialled he picked up the separate mouthpiece with his good hand.  
“Hello?” he shouted over the noise of Ronald rocking out “Myron? It’s me, Phineas! You know, your cousin? Phineas Wagtail? Well, you know that new sound you’ve been looking for? Listen to this!” he held up the mouthpiece so that the person on the other end could hear Ronald’s guitar as he hit the chorus:   
“Can you dance like a hippogriff, nanana mamama nanana…”  
With the crowd now dancing enthusiastically to this hot new jam, the atmosphere in the room was palpable. Ron felt his face flush and the spirit of rock and roll rushing through him; as he reached the point where Gideon Crumb would usually chime in with his bagpipe solo, he decided instead to segue into the killer solo from “Magical Eruption” from the wizard rock band “Van Cauldron”. His fingers flew frantically over the frets as his guitar let out a righteous screeching which cut straight through the crowd. He screwed up his face and lept about the stage like a centaur in heat, knocking over speakers and leaping off of stage props. Finally his solo culminated in a sick powerslide to the front of the stage as he bent the final note as far as it would go. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw that the crowd had stopped dancing and fallen into a stunned silence.  
“Well…” he got up and, now somewhat out of breath, addressed the audience of shocked teenagers “I suppose you weren’t ready for that one. Trust me though, your kids are going to love it.”  
He could see Arthur and Molly smiling up at him from down below; Arthur’s hand was around Molly’s waist. Clearly they were going to be just fine from here, so Ron decided to make his exit. Without a moment to lose too he realised; the grandfather clock to stage right was only twenty minutes away from chiming midnight.


End file.
